The Mayor's Party
by Futile Devices
Summary: Chapter 2 up! In which Ichabod finally discovers some modern clothing he doesn't hate. Ichabod/Abbie.
1. Chapter 1

_Note: Hello and welcome. This is set in a Katrina-less future. I'm not sure how long it'll be, but there will definitely be another chapter or two. Hope you enjoy!_

**1. Black Tie**

The Lieutenant opened her front door looking harried. "Hi Crane. Sorry- I'm running late." She waved him inside. She was barefoot, wet-haired and clad in a blue silk bathrobe.

"Good evening, Lieutenant."

She stood back and looked him up and down appraisingly. "Well, well, well. I thought I'd never pry you out of that moth-eaten coat after the Skinny Jeans Fiasco. You scrub up nice, Crane."

He bowed his head in thanks. He wasn't sure what 'scrubbing' had to do with anything, but he liked her approving smile. "Well, one can hardly disregard a dress code, particularly when we need to make ourselves as inconspicuous as possible."

They were attending the Mayor's birthday party: a 'black tie' cocktail event at her home, to which they had not strictly been invited. They suspected that the Mayor was in possession of an artifact that might help them defeat their current foe, a particularly loathsome and extremely bloodthirsty vampire-demon. Their target was an eighteenth-century hunting knife that had been hexed by a powerful witch. This fortuitously-timed party had given them an opportunity to search for it… provided, of course, that they could talk themselves through the front door.

To this end, he had spent his afternoon being prodded and measured and manhandled by a surly Italian gentleman in Sleepy Hollow's Finest Formalwear, and then handing over an obscene amount of money for the loan- not even the purchase, but the _loan_- of what was apparently called a _tuxedo_. He did in fact quite like the ensemble, with its sleek black dinner jacket and crisp white shirt. He'd had some difficulties with the bowtie though, as the Lieutenant now noticed. She reached up on tiptoes to re-tie it for him. He looked carefully straight ahead, trying not to notice the closeness of her body in the thin robe or the deft movement of her fingers against his collar.

"So what do you think? Have I finally converted you to twenty-first century fashion?"

"Compared to tank tops, flip flops, _skinny jeans_… this is indeed rather smart."

The Lieutenant stared up at him with theatrical disbelief. "Ichabod Crane, are you telling me there's a piece of modern clothing you _can't complain about_?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps. But this is hardly suitable for everyday wear. It isn't very practical."

She stepped back and admired her handiwork. "I don't know, I think I'd be okay with you wearing this every day. Speaking of impractical- I'd better go get ready. It'll take me a while to maneuver myself into this damn dress, so make yourself comfortable. Have another look at those plans and work out a strategy for the search."

She disappeared into the bedroom and he settled on the sofa. The television was displaying something called _America's Next Top Model_, which seemed to involve a group of thin women in outlandish clothes saying rude things to each other. The architectural plans for the Mayor's house were spread out on the coffee table and he bent forward to examine them. They would need to search the whole manor as quickly as possible without getting caught or cornered. The Mayor apparently had quite a collection of historical artifacts and curios, so it could take some digging.

He began marking out the locations where the knife was most likely to be stored or displayed- the library, the Mayor's study, the attic- but he found it difficult to concentrate. His thoughts kept straying back to the Lieutenant. The way her robe had slipped down a little as she adjusted his tie, baring the smooth skin of her shoulder. The warm scent of her, more lovely than any false perfume. The quirk of her lips and the gleam in her eye as she teased him. His mind had been lingering on thoughts such as these for a while now.

It had been more than a year since he had lost his beloved Katrina. A short time after she had come back to him- far too short- his wife had sacrificed herself in battle to defeat a great and terrible demon. He had wrestled with his grief for many months. The Lieutenant had been constantly at his side, supporting him with quiet strength even when his anguish made him irrational and he lashed out at her. She had steadied him and compelled him to carry on their work, which had turned out to be a welcome distraction (not to mention a helpful outlet for his anger: nothing was more satisfying than beheading a demon with a single swordstroke when you were having a bad day).

With the passage of time, he had come to terms with his loss and found a measure of peace. And with that had come a growing realization. He missed his wife and would always love her. But he loved the Lieutenant too. He loved her in the way he always had: he respected and admired her very deeply, and would lay down his life for her in an instant. But he had begun to love her in a different way, too. A way that made him think rather too often about what it would be like to kiss her. A way that made him want to untie the sash on that silk robe and slip it off her shoulders and pull her against him and…

He grimaced, slightly disgusted with himself. He knew that he could never act on these feelings. He was quite certain that she did not reciprocate them. And in any case, they were the Witnesses, the last line of defense against the impending apocalypse. Their work was more important than anything. To complicate matters by becoming… involved would be a dangerous distraction. She saw him as her friend, her comrade-at-arms, her partner. He must do the same.

He knew all this. He did. But it didn't make it any easier.

He turned his attention firmly back to the Mayor's manor.

It was more than twenty minutes before he heard the click of the Lieutenant's shoes coming down the hallway. He rose to his feet and turned, ready with an arch comment about how long it had taken her to dress. It died on his lips.

She stood framed in the doorway, pinning up a last strand of hair. She wore a berry-red gown. The strapless bodice clung closely to every curve, showing off her slender waist and a hint of décolletage. The voluminous skirts fell to mid-calf; they swished elegantly as she stepped into the room. Her skin shone like it had been polished and her hair was pinned up in a simple braid. She wore no jewelry. She didn't need it.

He realized he was quite literally staring at her with his mouth open. He closed it. "Lieutenant. You are… you look very lovely."

"Thanks." She gave a business-like twirl, revealing a flash of her shoulder blades. _God give me strength_, he thought, fighting a sudden intense urge to run his fingers down that beautiful swathe of exposed skin. "It's my one and only fancy dress- I've worn it to about four different weddings. It isn't really black tie but I think it'll do."

"Yes, I… I imagine so." _Pull yourself together, man. Stammering over a pretty lady in a gown like a blushing schoolboy!_

"Do we have a plan?" He blinked at her. "The knife, Crane." She gestured impatiently at the blueprints on the table.

"Oh. Yes. I believe so."

"Good." She cast a longing glance at the television before turning it off with a sigh. "I'd much rather spend tonight on the sofa with Tyra, a pair of sweatpants and a glass of wine, but such is the terrible burden of being a Witness. C'mon, let's go. It's after eight already." She slipped her badge and gun into her purse and headed for the door.

He gathered up the plans and followed her out, wondering how on earth he was going to get through the night without making a complete fool of himself.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**2. Arrival**

They had barely pulled out of Abbie's driveway before Crane started scowling at the radio. "Can I never escape this infernal tune? I don't know why this woman is so partial to '_that bass'_ and I'm quite frankly tired of hearing about it."

Abbie snorted. "Actually, for once I couldn't agree more. Find us something else."

She snuck a glance at him as he fiddled with the dial. Now that his tie was fixed, he looked… well, perfect. The guy looked good in anything. He looked good in an oversized blouse that had been buried in a damn cave for two and a half centuries. But Ichabod Crane in a well-tailored tuxedo… it was almost unfair. His slightly disheveled hair and beard somehow managed to complement the sharp suit and his eyes were a brighter blue than ever.

She grimaced and returned her eyes to the road. She was _not_ the type to wax all poetic about blue eyes like a soppy teenager. _Get it together, Mills._

Crane found a classical station and settled back in his seat. "There. Some real music."

"Oh come on Crane, don't pretend I didn't catch you singing along to Taylor Swift the other day."

"I was doing no such thing," he objected a little too strenuously, and then changed the subject. "We should determine our strategy for tonight. If we find this knife-"

"Then we hunt down this monster and we kill it," she finished grimly. "It's been preying on women for three nights now. Three bodies. We will _not _let it be four."

The demon was able to take on the appearance of a normal-looking man. It had been stalking young women in bars around town and using its powers of compulsion to hypnotize them. When it had them alone, it took its true form- a twisted, fanged creature- and drank their blood.

They had managed to track the demon to a derelict alleyway downtown just before dawn that morning, but they'd been too late to save its latest victim and had barely escaped with their own lives. Bullets didn't leave a scratch on it. Crane had shot it in the heart with a crossbow bolt and it had barely flinched. Only the rising sun had saved them, forcing the creature to flee back to its hidden lair.

But first it had paused to look back at Abbie. She felt sick to her stomach at the memory. Pale glowing eyes, fixed on hers. Teeth flashing in the shadows. And a whisper in depths of her mind, an echoing hiss: _You are mine. I will have you_.

She hadn't told Crane about that part. There was no point in freaking him out, and she had half-convinced herself she'd imagined it anyway. But deep down she had no doubt the creepy son-of-a-bitch had her in its sights.

Crane seemed to have come to the same conclusion anyway. "The creature knows we are hunting it now," he said. "I would wager that finding it will not be the difficult part. It may in fact find us."

Abbie's knuckles tightened on the wheel. "But this time we'll be ready. Edward Cullen isn't gonna know what hit him."

"Edward….?"

She grinned. "I'll explain another time. Or maybe not- ignorance is probably bliss in this case. We just need to hope Nick's tip about this knife is good."

Hawley had acquired the hunting knife in Romania a couple of years ago. According to local legend, it had once been used to kill a creature that had terrorized a peasant village for decades… a fanged man-beast that fed on the blood of young women. Hawley had sold the weapon to the Mayor a few months ago.

Crane muttered something under his breath and Abbie rolled her eyes. His skepticism towards Hawley showed no signs of abating, even after all this time.

"You must admit it's a fairly tenuous lead," he said.

"Maybe. But it's better than the big fat nothing we're currently working with."

He grimaced. "Incidentally, where is Mr. Hawley? I never thought I'd have cause to say this, but his assistance would be helpful this evening."

"He was in Mexico City when I called him this morning, tracking down some Mayan knickknack. But he _is_ going to help us, even from two thousand miles away. He's gonna get us into this party." She nudged him teasingly with her elbow. "Pretty impressive, huh?"

"Mmm." Crane sounded unconvinced.

Abbie peered down the dark tree-lined road. The Mayor's manor was a little way out of town, nestled in a patch of woodland. "We should be getting close now. Actually, I think this might be it." The car's headlights lit up a pair of imposing iron gates, opening onto a sweeping driveway.

Abbie drove up slowly and let out a low whistle as the building came into view. She knew the Mayor came from a very old, very rich family and that she owned one of the finest historic manors in Sleepy Hollow, but seeing it in front of her was something else. It towered four stories high, all stately grey stone and tall, arching windows. A few other guests were making their way towards the entrance.

Abbie pulled up at the top of the driveway and handed her keys to the waiting valet. Before she could take another step, Crane was at her side, offering her his arm. She glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow. "The path is uneven and your shoes are… precarious," he said.

It was true. She could walk in heels with the best of them, but six-inch stilettos on gravel were a recipe for disaster. She slipped her arm through his. The extra six inches brought her a little closer to his height, and the closeness of him sent a prickling wave of warmth through her.

She'd touched him plenty of times before- hell, she'd been strapped down next to him half-naked during that scorpion incident– but things were different now.

She wasn't exactly sure when she'd realized. She'd done her best to ignore it for as long as possible. How could she even _think_ like that, when he was a devoted husband and then a grieving widower? Even now, she could barely admit it to herself. But it was getting harder and harder to ignore.

She'd dated plenty of guys in the past, but had always managed to keep her guard up. She liked to have her feelings firmly under control. It was safer that way. She kept her distance, even when she'd been seeing someone for a while.

But this was different. She very literally trusted Crane with her life. He'd seen her at her most vulnerable a hundred times. She spent almost every day with him but still missed him with a physical ache when he wasn't around. She liked his quick temper and his stubborn sense of honour and the fact that he was personally offended by pumpkin spice lattes and parking meters and Valentine's Day. When he looked at her, it sometimes made her heart… _flutter_. Actually flutter. It was ridiculous. She was living in a corny romance novel.

So there it was. She'd somehow found herself falling in love with Ichabod Crane, and had no idea what to do about it. She felt completely exposed and it scared the crap out of her. So she kept doing what she'd always done: she focused on their work. She treated him like a friend, teasing him at every opportunity, keeping things light and easy. She tried not to touch him.

_All of which is much damn easier said than done_, she thought, as Crane slowed to carefully help her up the stairs.

They came to the elaborate front entrance where a tall, pretty girl stood holding a clipboard, flanked by a couple of security guards. Abbie couldn't help noticing that the girl's eyes lingered just a little too appreciatively on Crane as they approached. Crane bowed his head in polite greeting and she flashed him a dazzling smile. Abbie felt a prickle of irritation.

"Welcome, sir, ma'am. May I please have your names?"

"Most certainly, madam. I am Nicholas Hawley." His lips gave an almost imperceptible twitch of distaste and Abbie bit back a smirk. "My companion is Miss Abigail Mills."

Abbie held her breath as the girl scanned her guest-list. Hawley had been very helpful in expanding the Mayor's collection of historical artifacts over the past few years, which is how he'd scored an invite to the party. Some of the Mayor's staff had no doubt met Hawley and were fully aware that he wasn't (as Jenny would say) tall, dark and British. If any of them were in earshot now- or if the guest-list had photos - they were well and truly screwed.

But the girl nodded and ticked off his name without comment. _Phew_. "Thank you, Mr Hawley. Please proceed through to the garden- straight down the hallway." She ushered them inside.

"Much obliged."

"My pleasure, sir." Another coy smile. Abbie managed to refrain from rolling her eyes.

"That was easier than expected," Crane said in her ear as they made their way down the lavishly carpeted corridor. "Luck is with us tonight, Lieutenant!"

"Crane, you could have told that girl you were Mariah Carey and she would have let you in. It's the power of the tux."

He snorted. Abbie scanned the rooms to the left and right of the corridor, getting a sense of the layout. She saw a security guard standing at the bottom of the stairs. _Damn- that's going to make things more difficult._

They stepped out onto the back terrace and paused for a moment to take in the view. More than two hundred guests were gathered on the sweeping lawns, the women colourful in jewel-bright dresses and the men dark and dapper in their suits. The grand old trees were festooned with fairy lights and the air buzzed with lively conversation. She could hear music too; the elegant lilt of a string quartet. Waiters moved through the crowd bearing trays of champagne. It was like something out of a movie.

"This is some party," she murmured, feeling suddenly out of place. Deep down she was still that homeless teenage delinquent staring sullenly at Corbin. This was not her scene.

Crane hadn't let go of her arm; he squeezed it a little, as if he could sense her discomfort. "Quite spectacular. But you outshine them all this evening, Lieutenant."

She turned to him in surprise. Before she could muster a response she spotted the Mayor standing several yards away, elegant in a black dress, chatting to a big group of people. Her gaze fell on Abbie and Crane and her brow furrowed slightly. Abbie gave her a friendly wave and then quickly steered Crane into the crowd. "Mayor at 10 o'clock," she muttered. "Let's do our best to avoid that particular awkward conversation."

Crane had a faraway look in his eye. She nudged him. "Still with me, Crane?"

"The music," he murmured. "I know it. A particularly lovely waltz."

She had a brief image of dancing with him, his hand on her waist, her head on his shoulder. She pushed it aside. _He's probably remembering dancing to it with his wife_.

She felt someone bump against her and turned; a slick-haired young man raised his hands in apology. 'Scuse me," he said, looking her up and down with a leer. "I didn't see you there." His red face told her that he'd already had a few too many drinks.

"You're excused," she said coolly. He turned back to his friends and said something in a low voice, glancing back at Abbie; there was a burst of raucous laughter from the rest of the group.

She grimaced. "I'd rather hang out with our blood-sucking friend than some of these people," she muttered to Crane.

He gave the man a dark look over her shoulder. "Vulgar, ill-mannered cad. I have half a mind to-"

He took a step forward and she tightened her grip on his arm. "Simmer down, Crane. We do _not_ need to draw attention to ourselves."

"Mmm." He reluctantly turned his gaze to the house. "We must commence our search. There is a large conservatory on the ground floor… there, I believe." He pointed out a set of bay windows in the east wing. "The library and the main study are upstairs."

Abbie nodded. "Hawley said the Mayor keeps most of her collection in those three rooms. There's a security guy at the bottom of the stairs. How about I distract him and you go up? Then I can circle back and check out the conservatory. If you find it, call me. Otherwise we meet back here in twenty minutes."

"Agreed. Let's do our best not to get caught, shall we? We're somewhat overdressed to be spending the night in a police cell."

She grinned. "We'd definitely look a little out of place. Okay, let's get this done. You better wait by the door."

She let go of his arm but he caught hold of her hand before she could move away. His cool blue eyes met hers and her heart skipped. _That ridiculous flutter_. "Be careful, Lieutenant."

She squeezed his hand in return. "You too, Crane."

She made her way back inside. The security guard- blonde, square-jawed, roughly the size and shape of a fridge- was leaning against the banister of the staircase, looking bored. He perked up when Abbie approached.

"Excuse me, sir- there's a man throwing up just outside. He looks really wasted. Could you help me bring him inside to the bathroom?"

His smile disappeared pretty fast. "I'm not allowed to leave my post, ma'am."

"Please- it'll only take a second. He's really making a scene." She gave him her best beseeching look.

He hesitated, then relented with a sigh. "Where is he?"

As she led him outside, she caught a glimpse of Crane slipping in behind them and heading for the stairs.

She paused at the edge of the terrace. "He was right here a second ago." She scanned the crowd and spotted the slick-haired guy from earlier. He was swigging straight from a bottle of champagne and swaying slightly on his feet. _Very accommodating of you, my friend._ "That's him there," she said, pointing. "I can't believe he's drinking again."

Muttering under his breath, the security guy started making his way through the crowd towards the man.

Resisting the urge to stay and enjoy the fireworks, Abbie slipped back inside. She double-checked that Crane had disappeared upstairs, then gathered up her skirts and headed for the conservatory.

She didn't see the pair of pale eyes watching her from the shadows.

**Note**: Thank you all so much for reading and for the lovely feedback! I really appreciate it :) The next installment might take me a little longer to post (I'm just about to go on holiday for a week) but I promise it's on its way…


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